


Bedevil Me So

by eurydice72



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:43:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,614
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896499
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eurydice72/pseuds/eurydice72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set immediately after 2x04, "Lancelot and Guinevere." Seeing Gwen with another man rouses Arthur's possessive inclinations.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the KMM prompt, _Arthur/Gwen, jealous!Arthur when Lancelot returns (nothing happens between Gwen and Lancelot - it's all in Arthur's head), leads to their first time_

Images could not be unseen. Voices could not be unheard. And try as he might, Arthur could not find rest.

It certainly wasn’t for lack of need. After Lancelot disappeared, nobody seemed prepared to stop again until they reached Camelot. Even when Gwen had started to nod off atop her mount, Arthur’s suggestion they make camp for the night had been met with a sharp, “No! I just want to go home.”

He’d ordered Merlin to ride behind her, then. When she fell asleep for real this time, Merlin was the one who ensured she didn’t fall as they continued their journey.

A bath had been followed by a meeting with his father, during which he stood mute as Uther berated him for his sentimental foolishness. Only Morgana’s intervention had brought it to a halt. As he fled for his chambers and the call of his bed, he made a mental note to thank her once he was fully rested.

But sleep never came.

Memories did.

He had tried not to listen, but curiosity won over common sense.

_“Here. Let me.”_

_“It’s not that wide, Lancelot. I can make it on my—”_

_“There. Now there’s nothing to argue about.”_

_Gwen laughed. “That was hardly arguing.”_

_“Which was much my point in assisting you. I’ve seen you far too serious these past few days. I much prefer the sight of your smile.”_

Arthur had glanced back just in time to see it himself, accompanied by a shy tilt of her head when Lancelot returned his own. It was that response that had most provoked Arthur’s childish answer at the fire that night, a half-hearted attempt to assert his superiority over the situation. The fact that he’d failed miserably only reinforced his jealousy over the pair.

When he discovered Lancelot had left in the night, relieved delight had surged through him, squelched within moments when he heard Gwen’s restrained sobs. She wept for Lancelot like she never had for Arthur. He was mostly convinced she would have taken off after the man if she’d risen early enough to follow.

With a frustrated growl, Arthur rolled over and punched his pillow. It wasn’t as if any of this was new. Hadn’t he confessed to Merlin on their initial journey that he knew it could never be? No matter how many times he thought of Gwen, or dreamt of Gwen, or wondered what Gwen was doing.

But that was before. Before the rescue, before Lancelot, before she’d cried because Lancelot was gone.

Did she toss and turn in her bed tonight, wishing for Lancelot to return? When her thoughts idled, did she create fantastic plots to seek him out again? Had she considered Arthur at all in her incarceration, or had Lancelot commanded her very soul with his return?

That last question tortured him most. He’d thought he’d come to mean something to her, too, even if acting upon those feelings was impossible. He refused to believe the Guinevere he knew could be so fickle. She was stronger than that. Kinder than that. So much more than any of the dozens of women he’d seen throwing themselves at the knights through the years. Lancelot might not be one in name, but he was in spirit. Perhaps that was what Gwen responded to.

Had she responded in other ways before Arthur had arrived? Was the reason she was so disappointed by Lancelot’s departure because she’d given herself to him in body as well as heart?

Arthur felt like he was going to throw up. Gwen deserved only the best, only happiness, and he had known it couldn’t be with him. Lancelot was a good man, noble and strong. In theory, he was ideal for Gwen. Arthur knew that. But facing the very real possibility of them together, imagining her soft body bending and molding beneath another man—especially one he’d always admired—proved he couldn’t accept it.

Throwing back the covers, he rose and prowled around the room, any pretense at resting now gone. The images came fast and vehement, hurtling one after the other to create a collage of naked limbs, soft murmurs, locks of long dark hair.

Lancelot would have held her.

Cradled her.

Bowed at her feet.

Stayed there to—

“No,” Arthur growled. Long strides took him back to the bed, where he grabbed his trousers, yanked on his wayward boots, stormed to the door to race to…

Where, exactly? Gwen’s? A chase after Lancelot? The training yard so he could run a sword through a practice dummy and at least vent some of this bitter frustration?

None of the options were any good. Each failed in one way or another, but all in the most important way of all.

He wanted no other man to have Gwen.

For all his honor, for all his good intentions, he wanted her for himself.

Outside his door, he leaned heavily against the wall and closed his eyes. He was Prince Arthur, Camelot’s future king. An example upon which the people of Camelot modeled their own actions. What was he going to do, break down Gwen’s door like a drunken lout and steal her virtue? He’d never be able to face himself again. He’d never be able to face _her_.

An intermediary. That’s what he needed. Someone to put a stamp of manners on their meeting.

He trusted only one in this matter. With his mind made up, Arthur headed for the other end of the castle.

Gaius’s snored filtered through the closed heavy door, but Arthur took care opening it anyway. The room was dark, the candle at the side of Gaius’s bed burned completely away. Only melted wax remained, glowing with its ambient heat.

He waited inside the threshold for several minutes, silent and unmoving. Waking Gaius would raise questions he didn’t want to answer, but once he was sure nobody stirred, and his eyes had adjusted to the lack of light, he crept forward across the room, up the few stairs to Merlin’s quarters.

The tiny space was cluttered, creating an obstacle course for him to navigate to the side of the bed. Crouching down, he frowned when he saw the thick book cradled against Merlin’s chest. It hardly looked like light reading. Merlin must have nodded off in the midst of one of Gaius’s endless lessons.

Arthur nudged Merlin’s shoulder. “Merlin,” he whispered.

No response except a tightening around the book and a slight turn of his head toward the window.

“Merlin,” he tried again, a little bit louder. “Wake up.”

A fluttering of lashes. “What…” His eyes shot wide when he saw Arthur scowling down at him, and he nearly dropped the book as he bolted upright. “Arthur. What’s wrong?” The book tipped over the edge, where it landed with a resounding thud.

Arthur grimaced. “It won’t matter if you wake up the whole castle.”

“I’m sorry. I just…” His lips clamped shut for a moment. “Do you need something?”

“Yes. I need you to go fetch Gwen.”

“Gwen? Is Morgana all right?”

“Morgana’s fine.”

“Then what…oh.” His cheeks went pink.

Arthur rolled his eyes. “There’s no oh. I just need to talk to her.”

“And it can’t wait until morning?”

“I can’t sleep.”

“Gaius has a tonic for that.”

“Any particular reason you’re being so difficult about this?”

Merlin opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again after a few seconds of silence. Pushing back the blanket, he swung his legs over and sat up. “What would you like me to say to her?”

He hadn’t thought an explanation would be necessary if Merlin merely explained Arthur wished to speak to her. With a frown, he sat back on his heels to ponder it as Merlin shuffled with his shoes.

“Just tell her it’s important. Not life-threatening,” he hastened to add. “Just important.”

His clarification satisfied neither of them. How could it? A few minutes ago, he couldn’t even figure out what to do himself, let alone how he was going to do it. 

“And where do you want me to take her?”

“My chambers.”

“In the middle of—right, your chambers.”

Ignoring the disapproval in Merlin’s face, Arthur left him to dress, creeping out without disturbing Gaius to rush back to his room. Now that he’d made the request, flutters of anticipation took up residence in his stomach, beating against his skin from the inside out. This was the right thing to do, the only thing that would bring him peace of mind. He’d fought it for weeks, reluctant to admit what was right in front of his face. But she needed to understand just what she meant to him. She needed to know she was the one.

Of course, finding the right words to tell her was easier said than done.

His thoughts churned all the way back to his quarters, and then some more as he paced its interior. The minutes ticked by with neither sign of Merlin’s return nor revelations on how best to convey his feelings. The wrong thing, and he’d come across as a privileged prat, everything Merlin condemned him to be on a daily basis. Such antics would put Gwen off and only deepen the distance between them. She’d use it against Arthur as further proof on why they could not be, why she was better off with a man like Lancelot, and he couldn’t allow that to happen.

By the time the knock came at his door, he still had no idea what to say.

He smoothed his hand over his shirt, pulling himself as straight as he could manage. “Come in.”

The door creaked open. Merlin appeared in the opening, but rather than cross the threshold, he held the door wide to allow a slightly rumpled Gwen to enter before him. Her hair was down, more than one curl falling against her cheek, and she clutched a shawl tightly around her shoulders, but the eyes that sought out Arthur were bright and alert, her chin high.

He would wager his best sword that she hadn’t been sleeping either. 

“Thank you, Merlin,” he said. “That’ll be all.”

At the dismissal, Merlin frowned, his gaze jumping back and forth between them. Gwen caught it and offered a wan smile.

“It’s all right,” she assured. “I’ll be fine.”

His hesitance lingered, but he gave her a brief nod, his eyes slanting back to Arthur one final time before he stepped out into the hall. Sometimes, he acted more like Arthur’s mother than a servant, though perhaps in this case, considering the nature of Arthur’s earlier fears, it wasn’t exactly unwarranted.

“You can wait in the hall.” The direction surprised both of them, but Arthur maintained his composure, as if that was what he’d meant all along. “You can escort Gwen home again once we’re finished here.”

The murmured, “Yes, sire,” eased some of the tension between them, though not all, and certainly none of that which remained between him and Gwen after Merlin shut the door behind him.

She wouldn’t meet his direct gaze, her eyes focused on some spot on the miles of floor between them. Funny how it hadn’t been that long ago that he wouldn’t even have noticed the deference. She had just been Gwen, just a maidservant, just another loyal subject doing what was expected of her. Could he put his finger on the moment that had all changed? No, it would’ve been like trying to capture a single waft of air in a galestorm, because she’d come into his world in a blaze of demanding awareness, whether she realized it or not.

“What did you wish to speak to me about, sire?”

Her voice was low and calm—too calm, like she forced its modulation. He took a step forward, only to halt when she gripped her shawl more tightly. Was she frightened of him? Or wary? He wanted neither response, and yet, he feared he might have ruined any chance he’d had at any other.

“I wanted to apologize,” he said. Her head snapped up, surprise clearly etched in her face, and he dared to risk another step closer. “I was not as…gracious as I should have been on our return to Camelot. I’m sorry.”

She blinked once, then again, before seeming to snap out of her astonishment to shake her head. “Honestly, sire, it’s not necessary. I didn’t think—”

“Yes, you did.” He offered a rueful smile. “And you were right. I was abominable. I said things I didn’t mean, and I let you believe the worst.” Another step, and he could smell the faint scent of her soap, that lingering tinge of lavender he’d come to recognize while staying at her house. “For instance…I was already packing to look for you when Morgana came to me and asked. I would’ve gone regardless.”

Her breath caught. “Why…why would you pretend otherwise?”

“Because I saw the way you and Lancelot were together.” He’d forever see it, even in dreams when his waking self had finally suppressed the memories. “I thought it would be easier for you to believe I didn’t care.” He couldn’t keep meeting her eyes, not when he was so ashamed of his crass words and the hurt he’d seen on her face when he’d uttered them. “I thought it would be easier for me to pretend I didn’t.”

He waited for her response, anything to becalm the nerves taking hold beneath his skin. He should’ve been accustomed to his reaction by now. Every moment he spent with Gwen, he came untethered, the ground uncertain beneath his feet, his emotions just as uncontrollable. But nothing—and nobody—else had ever left him feeling so helpless. He prided himself for his courage, for facing down his foes without fear and doing so with confidence he could fake if not always feel. Gwen changed every rule he had ever known, and she did so without even trying, probably without even aware that she was doing so. It was both exhilarating and terrifying, all at the same time. And further proof he needed her for his own, whether it was easy or not.

Too many empty moments went by. When he lifted his gaze back to hers, he found her looking as lost as he felt, and without considering it, he finally closed the distance between them.

“Did I see things correctly?” he asked. “Are you and Lancelot…?” Words failed him, though the torturous images of the pair of them, naked and sweaty and panting the other’s name, did not. 

Gwen squared her jaw. “Lancelot left.” The look in her eye defied him to press.

Except he had to. Because otherwise, he could’ve left her alone in her bed. “That doesn’t actually answer my question.”

“What does it matter if he’s not here?”

“It matters to me. It matters, because I need to know.”

“Why?”

Any explanation he gave would make him look foolish. Any except one, perhaps.

“Because if I’m to have a rival, I’d like to know that from the start.”

She jerked back, and his hand shot out automatically to stop her from running away. One end of the shawl fell free where he tugged at her arm, and then she was up against him, warm breath fluttering beneath the open collar of his shirt, soft breasts tantalizing his already sensitive skin.

“You said nothing could happen.” She sounded as breathless as she appeared, her pulse racing beneath the circle of his fingers. “We both knew it could never be.”

Her loveliness hypnotized him, distracting him from her rushed words to coax more contact, more touches. He grazed his knuckles along her jaw, watching her lips quiver, and wondered how he could have ever thought he could simply let her go.

“I was wrong.”


	2. Chapter 2

Gwen stared at Arthur, unsure of what she was hearing. Uncertainty had been her bedmate ever since she and Morgana had been attacked, first in the form of what her future might bring, then in the surge of relief that seeing Lancelot had elicited, then Arthur’s arrival and everything that had transpired afterward. She didn’t know up from down, in from out, her heart from her head. The only thing she couldn’t deny was the way her body responded to that awed look in Arthur’s eye, the tentative possessiveness of his fingers on her skin.

She swallowed against the tightness of her throat and immediately choked on her breath again when Arthur’s gaze jumped to the simple action. Sometimes, he missed nothing. She only wished he could be as observant and astute when it might actually make a difference.

“I should go,” she said, but neither of them moved. The grip he maintained on her arm didn’t hurt, but she could tell from its firmness that it wouldn’t yield should she attempt to extricate herself.

“So we can go on pretending this isn’t happening?” 

His fingers threaded through her hair as he cupped the back of her neck and tilted her head to meet his eyes. The burn there was brighter than any she’d seen before, different from when Lancelot regarded her so intently.

“I need an answer,” Arthur went on. “Would you prefer it were Lancelot here and not me?”

He was making her choose. Why? He’d been so quick to deny any claim to her in Lancelot’s presence, and yet, when the man left, there he was again, as if he’d never walked away from her in the first place. Surely it wasn’t fear that would prompt his retreat. Arthur was the bravest man she had ever known. That left honor, which, if she thought about it, seemed to fit with his questions about Lancelot’s place in her heart.

But what kind of answer could she possibly give him? Arthur was a fantasy, a dream to be kept secret, from him, from Morgana, even from herself when she stepped into the light of day. In spite of what might have occurred between them when he’d stayed with her, the real world prevented its flourishing, no matter how much they might desire otherwise. Lancelot was like her, attainable in every sense of the word if he ever returned. She understood where he came from and his yearnings for more.

Arthur wasn’t letting her go, no matter how long it took for her to respond. She could give him a quick answer and be done here, but after everything he had done for her, he deserved the truth.

So perhaps the answer she sought was not about the variances in the men’s stations but in something else. Someplace else. Inside her. Because they differed in ways other than their title as well, and the more she considered it, the more she realized they were just as valid.

Lancelot made her feel like a princess. Something to be treasured.

Arthur made her feel like a woman. Someone to be loved.

“Lancelot chose to leave,” she said, and when Arthur opened his mouth to argue, she lifted her free hand to rest her fingers on his lips to silence them. “I choose to stay. Yes, I do have feelings for him. It would be a lie for me to claim otherwise. But my feelings for you are just as strong, Arthur, no matter if they’re right or wrong.”

His mouth quirked. “So I win by default because I stayed? That’s not quite the victory I had in mind.”

She shook her head. “It’s not like that. You win, because you’ve given me the choice. You have no idea how important that is to me.”

The languorous sweep of his thumb along the side of her neck diminished any tension his touch might have elicited. He regarded her in silence, weighing her words, before nodding.

“I think I might have some clue. But when I saw you crying after he left…”

She shrugged. “I had hopes, I won’t deny it.”

“I hated seeing you with him. I haven’t been able to sleep since we returned, because I kept imagining…” He stopped and shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now, and I don’t plan on letting you go again.”

She was poised to say she could hardly stay when he dipped his head and sealed his mouth over hers. Their only other kiss had been sweet, almost chaste, taking both of them by surprise. This wasn’t. His lips were firmer this time, and the full clasp of his embrace impossible to ignore. The tip of his tongue tickled the corner of her mouth, but when she parted it to gasp for breath, his tongue retreated rather than plunder, teasing a little in his obvious desire.

Her arm stole around his neck, her body quivering as she opened herself to the sensations. No hesitancy stamped his kiss, and he let go of her arm to encircle her waist and drag her even closer. The hard line of his arousal ground against her stomach, and without thinking, she rubbed against it, seeking out the friction along the top of her mound that might take the edge off her increasingly naughty urges.

Arthur groaned into her mouth. “I promised myself I wouldn’t force this.” His voice was as ragged as his breath, hot and fluttering across her heated cheeks. “I only meant to make my intentions known.”

“So let me go,” she murmured.

Except neither moved, neither one of them broke the embrace that bound their bodies together.

“Do you want this?” he whispered.

“Yes. Oh, god, yes.”

The hand at her back slid lower to cup her bottom through her dress. His strong hold hitched her higher against him, and she cried out at the rough scrape of his cock over the junction of her thighs.

“Nobody else may have you.” The desperation in his tone matched the sudden attack of his lips, his tongue driving past to finally seek out the hot corners of her mouth. Her head whirled, and her pussy clenched, and nothing had ever felt so good, not the awkward kisses she had stolen with various boys over the years, not even the way Lancelot had touched her in those dark moments when they’d thought they were going to die. This was unadulterated need, driven by a longing she barely understood but certainly felt. This was Arthur as she’d never seen him before, but thrilled to be able to finally experience.

“No,” she agreed when his mouth slid away from hers to burn a path to her ear. “I’m yours, Arthur. For as long as you want me.”

Something about her acceptance made him stiffen. When he lifted his head, his normally laughing eyes were black with desire, his brows drawn together into a dark frown. “You think I’m not serious about you?”

She struggled to put together her words with his. “No, I think you’re very serious—”

“Because this isn’t about tonight, Gwen. Or at least, it’s not _just_ about tonight. I know I said we couldn’t be because of our stations, but I’m willing to at least try to make it work.”

“What about your father? He’ll never approve.”

“Then it’ll be my job to change his mind. He has been known to do it, you know.”

“He wasn’t even willing to let you come rescue me. How on earth will you ever convince him you wish to do more than that?”

“That’s because he didn’t know what you meant to me. I’ll find a way to make him come around. I have to. Because I’m not willing to let you go without a fight.”

From the fervor in his face, she believed him, though she didn’t think he would have as easy a time with Uther as he hoped. Tradition and rules were everything to the king. He rarely reversed his decisions due to outside sources.

“If you’re serious—”

“I am.”

“You have to make him believe it’s his idea somehow. That’s the only way I can see it happening.”

A slow smile replaced his grim visage. “Does that mean you trust my intentions now?”

“How could I not?” She touched his swollen mouth, the tingle of his kisses still echoing in hers. “Just promise me, no more lies between us.”

“No more lies.”

They came back together in unspoken need, her hunger as explicit as his. She gripped at his broad shoulders, absorbing each twitch and flex of his muscles through his thin shirt as he swept her into his arms and carried her the short distance to his bed. The fleeting reminder that Merlin still stood in the hall disappeared when Arthur stretched out next to her, his hands now freely roaming down the curve of her side. He pulled the shawl open, giving him room to caress the underside of her breast with almost venerable strokes, and rained open-mouthed kisses down her throat, stopping once to suck at the tender skin directly in its hollow.

Squeezing her eyes, Gwen gasped for air as she fisted the back of his shirt. Her skin was on fire, flames creeping outward to the very tips of her toes and fingers. Her dress was hardly form-fitting, not like Morgana’s were, but its bindings already fought against her, constricting her movements, blocking his access, tormenting her everywhere it scraped over her flesh and he didn’t.

“Arthur…”

His name was a plea, the best she could manage when her lungs cheated her of voice. When he lifted his head, it wasn’t to answer her as she’d hoped. It was to smile, a wicked, playful smile that translated to the dance of his fingers along the edge of her hip.

Without a word, and without breaking his gaze from hers, he moved his hand inward, tickling her thighs through her skirt. At the softer skin of her inner thigh, he paused and lengthened his strokes, using his fingertips to provoke her into responding. Back and forth, up and down, over and over he touched, until she thought she’d go mad from the constant torment. The position of his hard body prevented her from moving too much, but she could still lift the leg farthest from him, letting her knee fall to the side, allowing her skirt to hitch higher as she exposed what she could to his pleasure.

His nostrils flared. At her silent invitation, he gathered the fabric between his fingers and inched it upward, past her knee, along her thigh, pooling it at her waist. He eased his weight where he pinned the other side so it didn’t cut across her, but she still couldn’t move without forcing him back, and for now, she wanted—needed—to see where he would take this.

Arthur dipped his head. The wet point of his tongue traced the hollow between her breasts, curving upward until he sealed his lips over the small patch of bared skin. It wasn’t her nipple—it wasn’t even that close—but it managed to send a charge through her nonetheless, one that compelled her to clutch the back of his head and hold him in place, just in case he had any intention of stopping.

He suckled gently for a few moments, then let her go to find another spot to learn. Soon, the entire top of her breast was marred with small red splotches, marks that would fade before sunrise but only for the outside eye. Gwen would feel them for years to come, she was sure of it, like she would always remember that first kiss the morning of his final match at the jousting tournament. She almost wished he would leave just one tiny mark, somewhere nobody but the two of them would know about. She would bear it proudly.

When he was done with the right breast, he shifted to the left, repeating his worship. Her nipples created tiny peaks beneath her bodice, aching for his mouth. In its absence, she reached to touch herself, skimming the very lightest of circles around the puckered tip.

Even that feathery contact drew a hiss from her throat. Arthur pulled back, only to stop and stare with bald lust at the way her fingers played with her breast.

“Again,” he said, when she became embarrassed from his watching. She repeated the small caress, and he swiped his tongue over his lower lip. “Do you do that when you’re alone?” His voice rasped with desire, too. “Is that how you pleasure yourself, Gwen?”

“Sometimes.”

“And others?”

“I touch myself…elsewhere.”

He peeled farther away, propping up on his elbow to free her from his touch. “Show me.”

Her face flamed. “I don’t think—”

“You’re not going to make me order you, are you?” His eyes twinkled.

It would almost be better if he did. Even in all her girl talk with Morgana, she’d never volunteered information about how she took care of those longings in the dark of night. Morgana had done everything in her power to coax the information from Gwen, even detailing all of her own exploits as example, but Gwen just couldn’t do it. It felt too private, too vulnerable, to share. No matter who was doing the asking.

When she didn’t move right away, he rested a hand on her bare thigh. “Does it frighten you? Because it shouldn’t. I think it’s exciting.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re beautiful, Gwen. I imagine what you must be like, how you might react to the way I kiss you, or the way I touch you. I think of it far more than I’m sure is healthy.” His smile widened. “Even for a prince coming of a certain age.”

She laughed at that, some of her nerves evaporating. How could she not? His self-deprecation just proved he wasn’t the untouchable royal he had to project for everyone. He might have believed in his own image before, but time had tempered him into the king he was becoming, the one who would lead Camelot into a bright future.

The man who was so determined to have a future with a maidservant, no matter what it took to make it happen.

Sitting up, she watched him carefully as she unlaced the bodice of her dress. Though his gaze kept flickering to the skin she revealed, it always returned to her face, trust and hunger warring in his eyes. She lost sight of him when she gathered her skirt and pulled the garment over her head, but then there he was again, large and solid and—

“Am I to be the only naked one here?” she asked in mock innocence.

He cocked a brow. “Is that an order or a request?”

“Whichever will allow me to see you, too.”

His chuckle followed him off the bed, and he whipped his shirt off before his feet had even touched the floor. She’d had glimpses when he’d stayed with her, stolen when he’d slept and the blankets had slipped away to reveal the sculpted planes of his chest, but now she could drink her fill without fear of being caught. She could allow herself to react as her body wished, warming from the deep pit of her stomach and radiating outward until she felt she’d combust from the heat of it. He had to bend slightly to pull off his boots, but it only drew her attention to the way his trousers now hugged his ass. At least for the few moments before he pulled his trousers off, too.

Her hand flew to her mouth to stifle her sudden urge to lean over and bite the firm flesh. What kind of wanton was she to…

He turned and perched on the edge of the bed, his thick erection listing heavily to the side. The tip glistened with clear fluid, and without thinking, she reached out and skimmed her finger across the velvety skin.

His breath hitched. “Gwen…” When she tried to jerk away, shocked at her own audacity, he caught her wrist. “Don’t. You can touch me. However you wish.”

“I thought you wanted me to touch myself.”

Her attempt at a joke worked to ease her own trepidation, though Arthur’s gaze remained just as serious. “I find it hard to remember anything I might have said when you look at me like that.”

“Look at you like what?”

With his free hand, he brushed a curl over her shoulder, baring the breast it had covered. “Like you might want me as much as I want you.”

“I wouldn’t be here if that weren’t the case.”

“All the more reason for me to treasure you, Gwen.” He eased his hold, allowing her to pull her hand back, albeit more reluctantly now. “You treat me like a man, not just a prince.”

It sounded so much like what she’d come to realize about him that she colored in embarrassment, half believing he must have read her mind or she’d been foolish enough to say it out loud without realizing it. Unable to bear the weight of his regard, she moved forward, crawling onto his lap to straddle his thighs, his cock firmly trapped between them. His hands cupped her bottom, helping her balance, while her arms went back around his shoulders to mold their upper bodies into one.

“I would very much like to treasure you, too,” she whispered. Her mouth ghosted over his, teasing him with a kiss he couldn’t have, and her hips rocked against his groin, slicking his skin with the proof of her desire. “Perhaps we can wait until next time to watch each other.”

“Perhaps.”

He chased and captured her lips before she could pull away. No more games, no more pretense. Unadulterated desire unleashed in one of its purest forms. Only one thing still separated them, and Gwen lifted up onto her knees, blindly angling her body to catch the tip of his arousal without having to break their embrace.

She shuddered when it glanced across her clit, but the pressure of him against her opening was worthy compensation for its loss. Arthur’s mouth slowed but didn’t stop as he waited for her next move. Her heart pounded with excitement stemming from more than her need for him. He gave her this, this power to choose, this power to advance their relationship to the next level. He had taken the first step and laid his intentions out for her, and now, she was the one to lead the way, to decide if this was what she wanted, if this was what she was ready for.

“Oh, Arthur…” she murmured against his lips. Without waiting for a response, she sank down the length of his shaft.

Gwen was not a virgin. She knew what happened between men and women, probably more so than Arthur if only because she had always had more freedom than him. But the quick tumble with the visiting squire that had taken her maidenhead had hardly prepared her for the explosive sensations of what it would be like to slowly take in Arthur’s cock. He filled her completely, and just when she thought she couldn’t take more, he buried another inch, again and again until the coarse hair at the base ground against her clit. She quivered in the circle of his arms, every muscle she had constricting and shaking. So much more than she’d dreamt of. How could she feel like she was going to fly apart at the same time she finally felt like she was whole?

Though his fingers dug into her soft flesh, he didn’t coax her into moving. His arms had locked as well, and the faintest of tremors vibrated through his biceps. A struggle like hers? Did she dare ask? Did she even have voice to do so? His head dropped to her shoulder, his mouth moving against her skin. The rich scent of his rising perspiration joined with the smell of her own to create a concoction she could practically taste. One she _craved_ to taste.

So she did. With a small turn of her head, she skimmed her tongue along his temple, into the damp strands collecting at his ear.

Arthur shuddered. “Move, Gwen. I beg of you.”

The sheer need in his tone prompted her to obey, even though she had no idea how she’d bear it. She rose a few inches, her body clinging to his shaft the entire way, only to sink again when her muscles failed her. The force slapped skin to skin and scraped her clit across the base of his cock. She was not the only one to groan aloud at the raw contact.

Her second stroke came with help, his arms tightening as he guided her upward. She managed a little farther that time, and even more on the third, until they found a steady tempo that pleased both of them. Her breasts rubbed against his chest, catching on the fine hairs, compounding the pressure building beneath her skin, but she couldn’t disentangle one sensation from the next, not even when Arthur bent his head to catch a puckered nipple lightly between his teeth.

She cried out and slammed downward, her nails raking down his shoulders. Rational thought abandoned her, leaving her to act on a more primal level, body to body, woman to man, riding his cock as she hurtled toward a release she knew would obliterate any she’d had before. His name tumbled over and over from her lips, but all he did was devour her body, switching to the other breast at the most unexpected moments.

All was lost when he reached between them and flicked a single finger over her clit.

Gwen shook as her orgasm rattled through her, any sense of rhythm destroyed. Arthur took over at that point, thrusting up to meet her awkward strokes, and within seconds, drove into her one final time, burying his face in the crook of her neck as he shot deep inside her. They clung to each other like that for what felt like hours, though in reality had to be only seconds. She was still gulping for air when his lips sought hers, his questing tongue slipping past with a gentleness that nearly undid her.

“You amaze me,” he murmured when they parted.

She smiled. Contentment welled inside to replace the fiery lust that had resided there only moments earlier. “I hardly understand why, but I’m too happy right now to argue with you.”

With a light laugh, he twisted and rolled her to the bed. “I like it when you argue. You remind me I’ve much to learn.”

His confession struck a chord deep within her, and she drifted lazy fingers along the side of his face to memorize the happiness etched there. “We’ve both much to learn,” she corrected.

Nodding, he settled at her side and rested a possessive hand on her stomach. “If Lancelot returns—”

“He won’t.”

“But if he does, what would you say to him?”

She knew it was important to him, and marveled how a prince could possibly be insecure. “The truth. That I choose you.”

His delight in her response came with another kiss, slow and almost sweet. “I only wish I’d had the nerve to tell you before tonight,” he said. “Merlin—”

“Merlin!” He was still in the hall, waiting to escort her home. “We forgot about him.”

Arthur laughed. “Well, I hope so. There’s only room for two in my bed, and I’d really rather the other was you.”

She tried to rise, but his arm held her in place. “I should go.”

“Only if you promise to trust I’ll do the right thing by you, Gwen.”

His earnestness was there in his eyes, unmistakable and crystal clear. “Always.”


End file.
